


Transformation

by owlmoose



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: 15 Characters Meme, F/M, Haircuts, Missing Scene, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 05:00:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlmoose/pseuds/owlmoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ashe helps Basch take an important step into his new life, with a snap of the scissors. Endgame, includes spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transformation

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 15 characters meme on Tumblr. The prompt, from auronlu, was "Ashe cuts Basch's hair."

Though any of a hundred servants could have been called to take on the chore, Ashe feels compelled to perform this duty herself. After the Strahl is safe in the royal aerodrome but before anyone disembarks, she requests a pair of scissors, and then she cuts Basch’s hair.

They are alone in a storage compartment, leaving Larsa a private space in the berth to mourn his lost protector while Vaan and Penelo wait in the cockpit. Basch sits on a crate, hands folded, head bowed; standing behind him, Ashe gathers the length of his hair in her left hand, then hesitates. “You are certain?”

“Please,” he replies, his voice a quiet shadow of its usual confident baritone, with a note of pleading: _If it must be done, then do it quickly._ And so she proceeds, snipping inches off in one cut.

She sets the small tail aside, then begins to work, trimming the ends in hopes of achieving some semblance of evenness. The work is methodical and almost soothing: his smooth hair, fine as a child's, the soft snick of the scissors, the effort of concentration her task requires. She leans over the top of his head and takes a deep breath, the warm scent of him filling her senses, and she pauses once again, setting the scissors aside to brush the loose hair from his shoulders, then let her hands rest there, feeling his muscles tense beneath her fingers. When this task is finished, he will leave, take up the mantle of Gabranth, and Ashe does not want him to go.

He says nothing, only leans back into her touch, a catch in his breath, and Ashe lets herself slide down, her palms skimming his chest, her cheek falling to the top of his head, coming into an embrace of sorts, and they stay that way for a long moment, breathing together while his hands rest atop hers. The silence is comfortable and mournful, a farewell without words; she turns a hand toward his palm for a careful squeeze and then releases it as she straightens.

With a deep breath, she comes around his front to examine her handiwork. The effect is startling — but for the lack of armor and the scar on his forehead, she could be looking at the Judge Magister, and before she can stop herself, she flinches at the sight of her former enemy, the face of the man who murdered her father.

Basch sees, and he looks down with a sigh. ”So, it is done, then.”

Ashe nods, recovering her composure. “It will do, at the very least, until a more skilled barber can be found. Still, best to wear the helm as much as you can.”

“Agreed.” Basch stands and lifts a hand to the back of his neck, as if to finger the strands of hair that have gone missing. “Thank you, your majesty.”

Ashe tips her chin in acknowledgement. “It was the least I could do.” She steps aside, unable to watch as he leaves, bits of hair drifting to the floor behind him.


End file.
